


I Am Thinking It's Love

by sonata_de_morte



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-01
Updated: 2012-05-01
Packaged: 2017-11-04 16:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonata_de_morte/pseuds/sonata_de_morte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was raining the day Draco Malfoy got out of Azkaban. Harry was there to meet him. Two damaged young men relearn each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Am Thinking It's Love

It was raining the day Draco Malfoy got out of Azkaban.  **  
  
** But then, it had rained at least twice a week for the entire year and a half that Draco Malfoy had been away.  **  
  
** He’d been given a light sentence, considering all that had happened, and all of Wizarding Britain knew that Draco had only gotten off so lightly because of the testimonies of three teenagers. Apparently saving the world and being Order of Merlin first class heroes gave you clout with the Wizengamot no matter how old you were.  **  
  
** A guard walked Draco out of the prison.  **  
  
** A human guard, since one of the first projects undertaken after the war ended officially was rounding up the Dementors and nuking them with pure, unadulterated happiness, ending their miserable existence. Draco had heard about it while he was in prison, and he’d snorted. Who knew there was that much happiness left in the world? **  
  
** There was a very small group of people assembled to take in the release of Draco Malfoy, but the blond bypassed most of them. **  
  
** He walked past his aunt Andromeda whom he barely recognized and knew was only there because his mother wasn’t alive to be. **  
  
** He walked past Blaise and Pansy who were holding hands and looking anxiously about the place, knowing that this could have been their fate as well if they had’ve backed up some of the things they’d bragged about. **  
  
** He walked past Granger and the Weasel who looked uncomfortable and kept shooting looks behind them, checking, as always, that the other member of their trio was hanging in there. **  
  
** Draco had eyes only for the green eyed, dark haired young man at the very back of the group. He didn’t look all that different from the last time Draco had seen him. There were still dark circles under his eyes, and he still sported that scruffy, underfed look, but a small smile played around his lips as he met Draco’s steely gaze with his own amused one.  
  
” You look good,” Potter said.   
  
“ Liar,” Draco replied, voice raspy.  
  
“ Yeah, okay, you look like you just spent eighteen months in prison,” Potter conceded. **  
  
** The blank, coolness gradually faded from Draco’s eyes, leaving a weary bemusement. “You’re one to talk,” he returned. “Savior of the world and you still look like that starving little boy from Hogwarts.” Fingers that shook with nerves Draco would never admit to lifted, pushing up Potter’s glasses and tracing the shadows under his eyes. “And apparently you don’t sleep.”  **  
  
** Potter shrugged. “You always knew I couldn’t take care of myself properly.”   
  
“ True. You’re lucky I’m here to look after you now.”  _Merlin, I missed you._  
  
“ I suppose I am.”  _Never leave me again._ **  
  
** Potter held out a hand, and Draco was gratified to see that it wasn’t any steadier than his own. He slipped his fingers though Potter’s, feeling them twine together for the first time in too long.   
  
“Home?” Potter asked.  _Come with me. I need you._ **  
  
** Draco nodded, holding tight.  _Home._


	2. What Stays

Harry watched Draco, something akin to fear bubbling in his stomach and making him wring his hands under the table where they were hidden in his lap.    
  
They’d been home for less than an hour, and nearly all of his sardonic pleasure at having the blond back had evaporated. He was still happy Draco was home, of course, but he couldn’t help but remember that it had been eighteen months since he had last seen the him, and that Draco had been in Azkaban of all places. Undoubtedly he would be a changed person.    
  
He certainly  _ looked _ different. Gone was the usually straight posture that Draco had inherited from both of his parents. He was hunched over the steaming cup of Earl Grey that Harry had placed in front of him, his eyes lowered, blond hair hiding most of his face. Harry liked Draco’s hair; it was much longer than it had been before he was sentenced, falling to his shoulders and curling a little at the ends.    
  
The silence was becoming oppressive, so Harry cleared his throat. “So...er...are you going to stay here, or...?”    
  
He winced as soon as the question was out of his mouth. Where else would Draco go? The Manor was still his technically, but it stood empty. The elves had been released, and as far as Harry knew, with the deaths of both of the elder Malfoys and Draco’s imprisonment, no one was looking out for the upkeep of the place.   
  
“ I don’t have to,” Draco replied, not looking up.    
  
“ No, I...I want you to. I was just...nevermind.”    
  
Draco snorted, pushing his hair out of his face and looking up for the first time in long minutes. Without another word, he got to his feet, abandoning his cup of tea, and walked out of the kitchen.    
  
Harry let out a soft groan and let his head fall forward to thunk against the table.    
  
Hermione, quite unsolicited, had given Harry loads of books to read about how to handle it when someone close to you got out of prison. Most of them seemed to agree that being sure to give the person lots of space when they wanted it was the best course of action. Harry was afraid of that though. Draco was always distant. He hid behind thick walls, and who knew what Azkaban had done to make that worse. He didn’t want to give Draco too much space and risk him drifting away. At the same time, he didn’t want to smother the blond.    
  
They had said more words to each other back at the prison than they had in the house, and it set Harry on edge.    
  
He didn’t know how much time had passed before light footsteps on the stairs announced that Draco had returned.    
  
“ Well, your house is a hovel,” he said. “Not that I’m surprised.”    
  
Harry rolled his eyes. “Sorry,” he mumbled into the table.    
  
Thin fingers threaded their way into his hair, and suddenly Draco was very close. “No, you’re not. I thought you had an elf.”    
  
“ He’s at Hogwarts.”    
  
“ Ah. The master bedroom isn’t  _ so  _ bad, so I’ll sleep there.”    
  
Harry lifted his head and gave Draco a look. “ _ I _ sleep there.”    
  
“ You look like you don’t sleep at all.” Draco returned with an arched eyebrow. “It won’t be a problem.”    


And Harry just nodded, because he didn’t know what else to say.

  
  



	3. Nighttime

Draco didn’t expect to sleep that first night.    
  
In his eighteen months in Azkaban, he had grown accustomed to the noises of the place. The prisoners who had the cells on either side of his were the types who muttered in their sleep, and the man on the left was prone to screaming.   
  
There was a young woman further down who cried all day, and it had always seemed louder at night. Draco never got to see her while he was there, but she sounded young. Too young for Azkaban certainly, and he often wondered if she had been pressed into something she didn’t understand. He couldn’t think about that for too long without fearing for his own sanity, so he just learned to sleep through it.    
  
Number 12 Grimmauld Place was eerily quiet at night, though, making it very apparent that he and Harry were the only ones in the house. There was a time when he would have been grateful for this peace, but now it just made him feel caged in, claustrophobic. Like the dark and the silence were pressing in around him and sucking the air from the room.    
  
It didn’t help that he had no idea where Harry was.    
  
Apparently it wasn’t even an exaggeration that his...lover? Boyfriend?    
  
Whatever.    
  
It wasn’t a stretch that Harry didn’t sleep. After an extremely awkward interlude where they’d sidestepped each other in the bathroom, the two of them had climbed into opposite sides of the enormous bed that was in the master bedroom.    
  
Harry had just lain there, practically on the edge of his side of the bed, staring at the ceiling, his hushed, slow breathing the only sound in the room.   
  
Draco had curled up into a ball with his back to Harry, staring into the darkness until his eyes adjusted. At some point he must have drifted off, because he opened his eyes and turned over to find himself alone in the bed.    
  
That’s when the suffocation started. Draco knew Harry was in the house somewhere, but he couldn’t  _ hear  _ him.    
  
He had come to hate silence. His world had been narrowed down to mutters, cruel laughter, screaming, crying, always sound. Silence meant death. Silence wasn’t safe.   
  
With a snort of disgust at himself, Draco threw back the covers on the bed and got to his feet. He was only wearing a t-shirt and a pair of thin pajama bottoms, but the temperature in the house was comfortable. Barefoot, he padded into the hallway, stopping when he saw Harry sat on the stairs about halfway down.   
  
Draco took a moment to study Harry from the back. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his hair was all over the place, and the blond couldn’t help the small smile that quirked his lips. It lessened his anxiousness, seeing Harry there, and Draco stepped closer. “Hi,” he said, voice soft.   
  
Harry turned his head to look at Draco, his eyes slightly unfocused since he wasn’t wearing his glasses. “Hey,” he replied, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”    
  
“ You didn’t,” Draco said, rocking back on his heels, not sure if he should stay where he was or go join Harry. “It was just too quiet.”    
  
“ That doesn’t really make sense, you know.”    
  
Draco bit his lip and looked away. “It does if you’re me, alright?”    
  
“ Sorry. I didn’t mean—”   
  
“ It’s fine.”   
  
And there was that oppressive silence again. 

  
  



End file.
